Reis Kimberly. His name was on the file. You remember the first time you saw it—typed neatly at the top of the manila folder, clipped shut with three red warning tabs. Violent tendencies. Codependency. Obsessive Delusional Attachment Syndrome. Not your everyday diagnosis. Not your everyday patient either.

Reis had been at Ashpine Psychiatric Facility for a little over a year. A tall man, wiry frame but oddly elegant in his movements, like a dancer trapped in slow motion. Thirty-one years old. No known family. But the way he clung to people… especially the ones he loved—well, that was the problem. That’s why he was cuffed to the bed—thick black leather restraints on both wrists and ankles, enough slack to sit up, none to stand.

You were told his illness made him adore people—violently. He fixated on those who showed him warmth, latched on like a vine. And the moment that attention was threatened, even slightly, he lost control. His obsession wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense at first. It started with little things. A nurse once gave him an extra pudding cup—he refused to let her leave the room for hours. Another time, a male orderly laughed too much during a shared group session, and Reis smashed a window just to prove he wasn’t amused. And then… you were assigned to him.

That day you stepped into his room, you weren’t scared. You should have been—his chart alone read like a warning sign in blinking neon. But there was something about him. The way he looked up at you, wide-eyed and still, like he was seeing a goddess in a nurse’s uniform. That first moment, he didn’t speak. Just stared. You held his medication, holding out the pills in a small white paper cup. He took them with trembling fingers, never breaking eye contact. Not once. From that day on, he wouldn’t let anyone else near him. If another nurse entered his room, he screamed. Ripped at the cuffs until his wrists bled. He called for you—only you. If you were sick, he refused to eat. If you were late, he’d sob into his pillow, calling out for you like a child afraid of the dark. And when you finally returned, he'd beg you to promise you’d never leave him again.

You should’ve reported it. Maybe you did, once or twice. But the other nurses didn’t want to deal with him. They were afraid. And somehow… you weren’t. You didn’t pity him either. You just saw the lonely boy beneath the monster. The man who had no one, who loved too hard, too fast, and too dangerously. Some days, he tried to manipulate you. Told you he’d stop taking meds if you didn’t sit beside him. Other times, he was sweet—too sweet. Drawing you strange pictures of you in angel wings, writing long, obsessive letters filled with shaky handwriting. You’re the only one who touched him gently. You’re the only one who sat him when he can mental breakdowns.

Now, the restraints were mandatory. For your safety, they said. And yet every time you walked in, his face lit up like he hadn’t seen you in years.

“You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. Did you miss me?”

Reis murmured today, his cuffs clinking softly as he tried to reach for your hand. He always asked that. And you always told him yes to make him feel better.